I was lucky enough to be up early (9am) today and had forgotten how much I enjoy them. Granted, I was in the best of moods to begin with, threw on the jacket and scarf from last night and watched as my little city gained momentum. Everyone likes rolling the midsection of the snowman but run in terror once it becomes an avalanche. With my long strides, I was outstepped by a woman half of my size – on her mind was most likely a clock and the person who’s eye was on it, on mine was the warm coffee waiting in the cafe and the vibration in my inside pocket designating a message – my friends don’t wake up early and if they do, they know I don’t which meant it must be from the person I hoped. It was. I really felt like I was in my 30′s and enjoyed it – the age that can go thru 5 cocktails and a bottle of red wine the night before and still wake up feeling ok; is that maturity in age or alcoholism? I don’t care. I even tried to read the business section of the paper. Unsuccessfully. I didn’t even mind the microwaved eggs and sausages served with ketchup all over them. Didn’t mind them, nor did I eat them – but I didn’t care. Call it the blurb in an Oprah Book Club special – but mornings, when you have the time to outpace them, are quite promising.

Or maybe I’m just still drunk.